


Bring Me Home

by cyanspica



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s13e17 The Thing, Fix-It, Hurt Gabriel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Sam Winchester, Please Just Let My Child Be Happy, Poor Gabriel (Supernatural), Post-Episode: s13e17 The Thing, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, This Is What Happens When I Get New Content After Eight Fucking Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14284593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanspica/pseuds/cyanspica
Summary: Gabriel's jacket was the first thing Sam put away the day he and Dean moved into the bunker, and it's stayed just out of sight on his uppermost shelf ever since. It wasn't like Sam ever had a reason to bring it out until now, after all.





	Bring Me Home

 

**Bring Me Home**

 

                Sam didn’t even need to rummage around. It’d been the first thing he’d put away when he unpacked his duffels the day they’d moved in, and hadn’t been touched since. Gabriel’s jacket was folded neatly into a square, placed right on the uppermost shelf of Sam’s closet. His fingers brushed over the hard plastic of what he knew was a Casa Erotica DVD case, but he pointedly ignored it until his fingers found fabric.

                A fine coat of dust flew into the air as he pulled it down, but aside from that, it was in just the same condition as the first time he’d picked it up. He carefully arranged the jacket over his arm beside the rest of the clothes he’d assembled from the bunker’s various inhabitants, then slipped back into the room adjacent to his.

                Gabriel was in the exact same place Sam had left him. He still sat on the corner of the bed, legs dangling off the edge but not quite long enough to reach the ground. His head looked down at his lap, but he seemed immeasurably more relaxed than when Ketch had first dragged him out.

“Hey,” Sam murmured, waiting until Gabriel glanced up at the sound of his voice before he continued. “I got you something.”

                He set down the flannel and jeans he’d borrowed from Dean on the bed, taking Gabriel’s jacket off his arm to show him. Sam could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of recognition in the archangel’s eyes, but he made no move towards it, so the hunter simply folded it back up and set it down beside him.

                Gabriel wasn’t a fucking prisoner anymore, and Sam would be damned before he forced him to keep looking like one. Still, it wasn’t as though he’d made any move to change yet, so Sam settled down on the spot next to him. The bloodstained clothes were only part of the reason he looked so damn bad. It wasn’t as if Sam was at a shortage of places to start.

                Sam reached over towards the nightstand, pulling the bowl of soapy water and the stack of dishrags he’d set down a minute ago onto his lap. It’d be easier if he could get Gabriel into a shower, but the archangel would hardly move if he wasn’t being half-tugged along, and, well, it wasn’t exactly like Sam wanted to give him a step-by-step on showering.

“I’m going to clean you up, alright?” Sam explained once Gabriel met his stare as he dipped a rag into the bowl.

                Gabriel said nothing, but he didn’t pull away when Sam tentatively reached out his hand. Taking that as permission, Sam delicately cupped his chin, lifting up his head to get a better look at assess the damage. There was certainly no shortage of it to look at. He eventually settled on starting with the archangel’s lips, gently dabbing away the fresh trickles of blood oozing from his freshly undone stitches.

“I still don’t get why you wouldn’t let Dean take them out,” Sam remarked, mostly to himself. He may have been the only one Gabriel had let near him with the scalpel, but the stitches had done their job. Even with them gone, the archangel still wouldn’t speak. “You know he’s not going to hurt you, right?”

                Gabriel ever so barely leaned into Sam’s touch, eyes flickering shut.

He dipped the cloth back into the bowl of water to rinse it off, then moved to gently dab away a particularly violent streak of dried blood and dirt at Gabriel’s temple.

                Sam was sure he knew why Gabriel wouldn’t heal himself. There was no point in fixing what’d be ripped apart all over again the moment it was made better—it was a lesson he’d learned early on in the Cage, little as he liked to think about it.

“You won’t believe what happened last week,” Sam simply told him when he finally cracked, unable to stand the silence any longer. He forced a smile into his voice, but Gabriel didn’t notice. Hell, he may as well have said nothing at all. The archangel didn’t even blink, just stared with wide, panicked eyes down at the floor. “Dean and I were on a hunt, saved this guy. Guy let us have whatever we wanted from his place to thank us, and he picked out this ridiculous flat screen.”

                Gabriel seemed to soften, if only a little, as Sam’s thumb absentmindedly traced a pattern along the edge of his jaw. He was looking better now that Sam could actually see the better part of his face. Deathly pale still, but less like he’d just escaped from Alcatraz. Every cut Sam cleaned made him look a little more like the archangel Sam had seen last, a little more recognizable.

“Of course, it’s too much to ask to get a gift that doesn’t want to try to kill us every once in a while,” Sam mused, “Dean didn’t have the damned thing turned for ten seconds before we ended up getting sucked into the damn thing. Into a damned episode of Scooby-Doo of all things.”

                He’d hoped Gabriel might laugh, but his lips moved almost imperceptibly in what might’ve been the beginnings of a smile. Maybe even an effort to speak. Encouraged, Sam kept.

“Best part’s that when Cas showed up, Dean got all cartoon style heart-eyed. That’s not a metaphor, either. Thought his hearts were going to come out of his eyes with how fast they were beating. It was a little terrifying, actually,” Sam remembered, laughing a beat.

                Gabriel’s gaze drifted somewhere over Sam’s shoulder, but he at least seemed a little more relaxed than he had a few moments ago, and any progress was progress nonetheless.

“Don’t think Dean knew what we saw though, ‘cause he hit on Daphne the whole time. Cas’s been cranky ever since, but you know how he is. Pretty sure those jeans I got you are Cas’s, actually. Dean sure as shit hasn’t ever worn anything in that size. Funny thing’s that I found them in his room, of all places. I might stab him if—”

                Gabriel went stiff underneath his hands, eyes going just a little wild with fear. His exhales were rushed, broken and wet. Sam backtracked as quickly as he could, nearly flinching himself when he realized his choice of words.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam hastily apologized, “I didn’t mean that. It was just a joke. I promise.”

                Sam tucked a lock of Gabriel’s hair behind his ear, running his fingers through what little of it wasn’t tangled in hopes of trying to calm him back down. He was at a loss for what else to do. He had no idea what Gabriel had even been through, and even less of a concept of how to even begin to put him back together. Even as the clarity slowly returned to Gabriel’s eyes, the helplessness Sam felt stayed.

                He had no idea what else he could do.

                So he just settled back down, focused on wiping away all of the blood until Gabriel was as clean as he could get without stepping into the shower.

                Sam just wished he had some idea of what to do next.

“I’m going to be right next door,” Sam promised, slowly standing to avoid startling him. “If you need anything, I’ll come when you call. Or you can come find me. I won’t go anywhere.”

                Gabriel wouldn’t meet his gaze now, but his hands worked in his lap, turning over themselves again and again like he was intent on stripping the skin off of them.

                God, he wished desperately that Gabriel would say something— _anything._

                Every second Gabriel stayed silent, every time he flinched when Sam moved, every second he wouldn’t even meet Sam’s gaze was just a reminder of just how badly Sam had failed him.

                Sam shouldn’t have marked Gabriel down as dead as easily as he had. He shouldn’t have let his name slide so quickly from the conversation he’d had with Chuck, he should’ve looked, should’ve been smart enough to see past what he’d thought. All these years, he could’ve been saving Gabriel, but he’d pissed away his chance. It’d taken _Ketch_ to save Gabriel.

                Gabriel had given them what they needed to stop the apocalypse, and Sam had done nothing for him but keep his coat in a closet.

                Even if it were only to damn him to Hell, it would have to be better than the silence.

“You still think too loud.”

                Sam’s head snapped back over his shoulder. Gabriel’s voice was little more than a frail rasp; it was so reedy, so small, and so much thinner than the last time he’d heard it that Sam almost couldn’t believe it was him at all. The archangel wasn’t looking at him. Hell, he seemed to be bordering on retreating right back into his shell, knuckles turning white around where he was gripping his knees.

“Have I always?” Sam asked, desperately trying to keep Gabriel from sinking away from him.

                Gabriel said nothing, but when Sam stood, shifting like he was getting ready to leave, a hand shot out like lightning, gripping his arm. It hand retreated just as fast, like he’d been charred by touch alone. It was almost impossible to believe Gabriel had done that either, given how intently his panicked gaze stared at his feet.

“The blade,” Gabriel stammered, speaking slowly like he’d forgotten how to.

                Maybe he _had_ , Sam reminded himself. Bile burned at the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down. He knew better than most how time passed in Hell.

“What about it?” Sam gently prompted him.

“Can I?” Gabriel hastily asked, like he was trying to get out the words before he lost the courage to do it. He sounded completely and utterly petrified, like Sam would strike him just for daring to speak, let alone ask for something. Hell, he was already shrinking back in on himself, tensing up, like he was waiting for a blow. Hastily, words almost slurred with how fast he spoke, he added, “Have it.”

                It took every ounce of Sam’s self-control not to ball his hands into fists then and there. He desperately wanted to hit something, to get angry, to lose his shit. But Gabriel’s gaze was at his feet, and he was hyperaware that anything was liable to startle him. And if Sam scared him again as badly as he had earlier at the mention of needing his Grace, then he didn’t think he could take it.

“Could it kill Asmodeus?” Sam asked before he could think better of it, thoughts still darkly revolving around a scene of the demon dead at his feet.

                He knew Gabriel had to have heard him this time, because the sound the bloodied angel made at the Prince’s name may as well have run Sam’s heart straight through.

                When Gabriel finally spoke again, it was the surest of himself he’d sounded since Sam had seen him again. He was just as broken as he’d been before, but his fear was an undercurrent—and just that. His voice was mostly just cold and dead, brittle and fragile like burnt wood.

“It wouldn’t be for him.”

                Sam felt like he’d been struck. Something stung bitterly in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t quite swallow it down. He’d opened a dam with the mention of the demon’s name, one he didn’t quite know how to close. The panic in Gabriel’s voice palpable, and it was hard to tell which trembled more: his voice or himself.

“He’ll find me,” Gabriel shakily explained, wringing his hands so hard Sam was almost afraid they might break. “I tried. He always found me.”

“This is different. You’re safe now,” Sam quietly tried to reassure him. “He can’t get to you, not here. And even if he could, I wouldn’t let him.”

“I can’t.” Gabriel clutched his knees so tightly his grip went white. He was leaning so far forwards he’d almost doubled over on himself, near hyperventilating. “I can’t.”

                Gabriel raised his head to meet Sam’s eyes. It looked like it took all the effort he had in him to do it, and Sam instinctually stepped forwards in the fear it might’ve sapped him so much he’d fall over.

                His eyes had taken on had the wild, frantic gaze of a trapped animal looking towards the one person that had the power to free him. The archangel was pleading him—no, begging him, to allow him the one thing that’d give him an out. Sam couldn’t pretend like he didn’t understand when he’d experienced it himself. If all it’d taken back in the midst of the apocalypse was a bullet to the brain to get away from Lucifer, then it was an option Sam damn well would’ve taken.

               His fear was near tangible, cutting so deep into him that Sam was willing to do anything to make it go away. If it was the only thing Sam could give him that would make him feel truly safe, then it wasn’t much of a price to pay. It was what Gabriel had asked for. He didn’t know what else to do.

“Alright,” Sam simply conceded.

                The archangel said nothing in response, but he sagged back onto the bed into himself like Sam had just given him the world, and he figured that was good enough.

                Sam got the blade, and when Gabriel flinched at the sight of him holding it in the doorway, he held one hand up and set the sword down on the edge of the blade for him to retrieve.

                Gabriel was surprisingly slow to do so, eyeing it fearfully as though it were some sort of alien object. He didn’t even seem to be in the same plane of reality as Sam anymore by the time he finally wrapped his fingers around the hilt, turning it over in his hands. Still, there was a tangible aura of relief around him, all of his tight tension loosening. Not entirely, to be sure, but enough.

“Thank you,” Gabriel quietly breathed out, looking unmeasurably calmer.

                Sam glanced over his shoulder only once as he left the room.

                Gabriel looked just as frail as Sam had ever seen him now that he was alone, but he didn’t have the first idea of how to even start to comfort him.

               

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

                Sam practically collapsed on his bed, exhausted. It’d been the better part of a day before he’d last had a chance to lay down, and between the hunt, Gabriel’s reappearance, and Dean’s disappearance, he was drained.

                He slept.

                Or he tried to, at least.

                After an hour of rolling around in his bed, it was clear he wasn’t going to be able to get any sleep. Not that he’d really expected to be able to, knowing that Dean was alone in another dimension with fucking _Ketch_ of all people. And even if a miracle struck, and Sam managed to keep his eyes shut for more than seconds, he was sure his sleep would be haunted by the sound of Gabriel’s muffled screams.

                Sam slung himself out of bed.

“I’m going to be in the kitchen if you need me,” he called through Gabriel’s door as he passed.

                Given that the only thing he’d eaten in twelve hours was a bite of drugged kale, he figured he should’ve been starving. Nothing in the pantry or fridge seemed all that appetizing, and they’d been out hunting down the Seal of Solomon too long to have kept any leftovers around.

                He figured he probably wouldn’t’ve been able to stomach anything, anyways. There were too many pieces on the board right now, and he was pretty sure the tension in his shoulders hadn’t let up ever since Ketch had shown his face.

                Sam just needed to do _something._ Something to distract him from knowing that his brother was damn near unreachable, and from knowing that a broken archangel was squatting in the rooms next to his. God, he wished Cas would pick up his phone. Just having someone he knew around would’ve been a comfort. And Cas may not have been close with Gabriel given their last encounter with each other way back in TV Land, but he at least knew Gabriel.

                Castiel would at least have a better idea of what to say. It wasn’t like now was exactly a good time for Sam to let loose that he’d been in love with Gabriel ever since the end credits of his little goodbye tape.

                Except that he _wasn’t_ , Sam hastened to remind himself. That’d been almost a _decade_ ago. In the stress of the apocalypse, it wasn’t totally unreasonable to convince himself he’d caught feelings for someone. He’d just deluded himself into the entire thing.

                God, it’d been easier to deny it when he’d thought Gabriel was dead.

                Shit. He needed a distraction now more than ever.

                Before he even realized what he was doing, Sam was paging through one of Dean’s secret recipe books. If he thought of Gabriel when he settled on a recipe for chocolate chip cookies, then what the hell was there wrong with that?

                Sam had baked even less than he’d cooked, so the cookies came out a little black around the edges, but still salvageable. He taste tested one, and it wasn’t outright horrible. They were chewy—he preferred his crispy, but had figured soft would be easier on Gabriel’s shredded mouth—and probably just a hint too salty, but not too bad overall. Far from the best he’d ever tasted, but edible was good enough result given all his experience.

                Sam eyed the tray for a long moment. He knew the real reason plenty well, but it was easier on his heart to pretend that he was doing it for himself. Not for Gabriel, and certainly not in the hopes that something sweet would bring out even the barest hints of a smile, just a glint of recognition in his eyes when he stared at Sam.

                He stirred up a glass of cocoa just in case Gabriel wanted something to drink, piled cookies onto a plate, and headed back over to the room adjacent to his.

                Unsurprisingly, Gabriel didn’t answer the door when Sam knocked.

“Gabriel? It’s Sam.” Sam paused. No response. “I’m coming in, alright?”

                The first step he took inside made him gape.

                Clearly, Gabriel had been busy redecorating.

                Hundreds, if not thousands, of sigils had been smeared in black on the walls while he’d been gone. Sam could vaguely categorize a few as Enochian for sure, but most were unfamiliar. That was a feat in itself, given just how long he’d been in the business.

                He shook it off and stepped into the room. There’d be time to investigate those further later.

                Gabriel looked a little better than before. He looked like he felt safer. A little more secure. His chin was just a bit higher, eyes a little less clouded with cold fear. Of course, he still looked just as much of a prisoner as he had before, save for a little cleaner. The clothes Sam had set out for him were still laid on the edge of the bed, and his jacket was untouched.

                Gabriel had moved to sit at the foot of the bed, legs crossed. He was still, unflinching, almost like he wasn’t even aware of the brunet’s presence at all. The archangel blade was still clutched tightly in his hand, his grip so vise-like that Sam feared his knuckles might snap.

 “Gabriel?” Sam repeated, worry seeping thick into his voice.

                The archangel's eyes flickered towards him, voice wry when he spoke.

“Not planning on doing myself in yet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t,” Sam lied, hoping Gabriel wouldn’t see past him. He scuffed his feet for a moment, expectantly announcing, “I made cookies.”

                Gabriel stayed still. When Sam took a little half-step forwards, he could see over the archangel’s back. The archangel blade was clutched tight in a fist, held vertical along his front.

“I’ll leave them on the nightstand,” Sam murmured, gently setting the mug and plate down.

                He lingered at the edge of Gabriel’s bed, desperately trying to come up with some way to comfort him. He didn’t know what to do, and watching Gabriel in the state he was felt like something had taken a knife to his chest. Sam desperately wanted to reach out, pull him onto his lap, thread his fingers through his hair until he fell asleep.

                Oh. Shit.

_Shit._

                Sam wanted to tell Gabriel he loved him, because it was desperately, painfully true.

                He would’ve. He would’ve in a heartbeat, if he thought for a moment it might help.

                But the last thing Gabriel ever would’ve needed was some pathetic kid pining over him, even when he’d been at his best. It was the last thing he needed now.

“Sam,” Gabriel called after him, just when he’d turned to leave. He was quiet, almost too much so for him to even hear. “Who the hell’s Jack?”

                Sam froze, and Gabriel must’ve taken that for confusion, because he was quick to follow up.

“Dean. Ketch. Said they were going to get someone named Jack.”

                He’d already known exactly what the archangel had been asking, of course. The elaboration just didn’t make it any easier to explain, given the terms that Gabriel and Lucifer had been on when they’d seen each other last. Sam _really_ didn’t want to let it slip that Lucifer had gotten free, not when putting him away had been what’d gotten Gabriel into trouble in the first place.

“He’s, uh… he’s your nephew,” the hunter simply replied.

                He’d hoped that would be good enough of an answer to satisfy Gabriel’s curiosity, but he was a Winchester, so of course it wasn’t. There was a pause, and Gabriel noticeably shifted. He seemed to straight a little, flexing his shoulders. He seemed a little less small, a little less helpless.

                He twisted to Sam, something almost approaching a grin working at the corners of his mouth. The archangel’s eyes held his, and he couldn’t help but to feel a rush of fondness.

“Cassie’s?” he questioned, and damned if he didn’t sound just the slightest bit proud.

“By proxy.” Sam swallowed hard, something like nervousness in his voice when he spoke again. “He’s a good kid. Better than he has any right to be, all things considered.”

                Gabriel’s stare was blank only for a moment as he processed what Sam had said, putting the pieces together. Then he blanched, sucking in a breath so sharp it must’ve hurt. His eyes went wild, panicked, knuckles going white around the hilt of the blade in his hands.

“I heard he was out. Hoped it wasn’t true, though.” Gabriel hands twisted in his lap, so roughly that Sam was compelled to step forwards, wrap a gentle hand around his shoulder in the hopes it might center him. The archangel tensed beneath his fingertips. Sam had just started to grow afraid he’d made things worse when Gabriel let out a shuddering breath, relaxing at Sam’s touch. His eyes were clearer, more focused when he glanced back up again. “Guess we can’t all have good dads, huh?”

                He thought it was meant to come across as a joke, but there was something too raw in Gabriel’s voice, to bitter in his smile for it to truly come across as one.

“Guess not,” Sam coldly agreed, but he suspected they were talking about different people.

                Gabriel studied him for a long moment. He must’ve thought it meant something else though, because the next thing he said had nothing to do with God, and everything to do with Hell. 

“Whatever happened was worth it if it means you’re not still stuck with him.”

                Gabriel wasn’t looking at him, not anymore. He stared at the wall instead, a degree of understanding plain in his eyes that Sam wished wasn’t there, that he wished they didn’t have to share. Sam wished that there was something he could do to turn back time, to make it so that neither of them hadn’t had to go through their own versions of Hell.

                Of course, he would’ve saved Gabriel over himself in a heartbeat. Hell was a place that was hard to put behind you. Sam knew that personally, and it seemed like Gabriel was just getting to, seeing how the blade hadn’t left his hand ever since he’d handed it over.

"Not so sure about that. If anything else manages to get through the rift, I think that'll make, what? The fourth ancient evil I've helped let loose lately?" Sam joked, just to break him from whatever dark corner his mind was pulling him to.  

                It was far from anything he'd usually crack a joke about, but golden eyes snapped back to him, alight with amusement, and he regretted nothing at all.

"Only the fourth?" Gabriel retorted, arching a brow. "Better than I was expecting."

                This time, humor actually made it into his voice. Sam laughed, long and genuine, but his smile stayed even after he'd quieted down.

                Gabriel glanced back down after a moment, the smile that flickered on his face not quite a happy one. He was entirely somber in almost a flash, a painful contrast from the flicker of his old self that'd been there only moments before. Sam couldn't find it in him to be too upset, though. The trickster he knew was still alive. What kind of price was doing a little digging to bring it out if it meant that he was still around?

"I've missed a lot, haven't I?" Gabriel said, though Sam got the feeling he was speaking mostly to himself.

                Between all of Heaven and Hell's civil wars, all of the various Purgatory incidents, a demonic resurrection in the Winchester family, Lucifer getting loose again, and his aunt's liberation? And that was only all things he could think of off the top of his head. Yeah, Sam supposed that could be counted as a lot. Sometime, he was sure he'd have to recount the past decade to Gabriel, and it wasn't an occasion he was looking forwards to.

"You should go see if Ketch and Dean are going to be joining us anytime soon."

                Sam knew a dismissal well enough when he heard one. He stood, faltering only when he reached the door. There were a hundred things he could think of that he wanted to say, but he couldn't quite get any off the tip of his tongue. So he just sent Gabriel the best smile he could manage, warmly telling him,

"Just shout if you need me."

                Gabriel glanced down at the stack of clothes laid out on the bed, and said nothing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                By the time the seventeen-hour mark rolled around, Sam was about to say screw it and jump right into the rip in reality. Cas hadn’t picked up on any of his prayers, Dean was fuck knows where with only a few hours before the rift closed, and Sam was sure he was on the verge of doing something he’d regret for what little would remain of his life if he said anything at all.

                Maybe it’d be best if he just jumped through the portal straight after Dean. Every moment he waited, the greater the chance got that something happened. There was fuck knows how many people on the other side trying to kill his brother. Hell, he’d probably even gone through with one.

                And Sam had let him, because damn if Dean wasn’t a big enough dick to know just how to play Sam’s strings. Banged up archangel was fucking right. Of course Dean would’ve picked up on the way Sam’s stare hadn’t left Gabriel since the moment he and Ketch had shown up. Fucker had known just how to play him right into letting him saunter into another dimension alone—Sam was sure of it.

                Sam was sure he was going to lose his mind, too.

                Gabriel was right next door, and Sam had spent eight years wondering about all the things he might say to him if he had the chance, and now that the moment had come? He had absolutely no idea what to do. And maybe it hadn’t been intentional, but Dean had even go far so as to get himself out of the way, too.

                Sam doubted he’d be getting out any love confessions anytime soon the moment his brother stepped back through. Hell, if Dean really had worked it out, there’d probably never be a single moment when the two of them weren’t hounded for being alone in the same room together again.

                Sam tried to laugh, but even with a quarter bottle of Jack Daniels in his system, he came up short.

                He’d had to try to pass the time somehow. Not that it’d worked, really. He was still every bit on edge, still as worked up, still as stressed out as he’d been before he’d started the better part of an hour ago. And Gabriel was still every bit as much on his mind, too.

                Sam ran his hands over his face.

                He was a fucking idiot. A senseless, laughable, pathetically in love idiot.

                How the hell Dean used whiskey to cope was beyond him, because damn if it hadn’t done anything but make it harder for him to lie to himself.

                Fuck. He really loved Gabriel, didn’t he?

                Idiot. Fucking idiot.

“They’ll come through. Gotta say I hope that Jack’s a little less of a prick than his dad, though.”

                Sam’s head jerked to the source of the voice. It was Gabriel, of course. There was no one else it could’ve feasibly been, but the sight tore a sharp breath of him anyways.

                It was Gabriel, standing, walking. Sam couldn’t quite say he looked like himself; his shoulders still curled in a little on themselves, his eyes flickered back and forth every few seconds in search of someone that wasn’t there, and the blade was still clutched too tightly in his right hand, but he looked better than Sam had seen him since before he’d been a cold body on the Elysian Fields hotel floor.

                It probably helped that he’d changed, too.

                Even though it was the smallest flannel Sam owned, Gabriel’s hands were near buried despite having rolled up the sleeves six or seven times. His jeans were a similar story, and he hadn’t even bothered with shoes. But it was his jacket that caught Sam’s attention most. Even though it looked looser than it should’ve slung over Gabriel’s shoulders, Sam couldn’t help but to think it could very well be the best thing he’d ever seen.

“What?” Gabriel asked when he caught Sam’s stare out of the corner of his eye.

                Sam glanced downwards almost instantly, hiding his smile behind his hair. He didn’t dare look back up, not when he could feel his whole heart shining in his eyes.

“Nothing,” he simply responded, keeping his gaze on his lap. “You just look good.”

                From the edge of his vision, he saw Gabriel arch a brow. The archangel’s eyes dragged unimpressed up and down his form. It was easy to see why, from a purely practical perspective. Maybe Gabriel wasn’t capable of healing himself right now. It’d take a long time for his vessel to piece itself all the way back together on its own.

Personally, though? Personally, Sam couldn’t have cared any less about the slashes of tangled scar tissue he shouldered or the blue, purple, black palette of bruises that colored pale skin, because Gabriel was alive, and that alone was more than he’d ever hoped to ask for.

                Gabriel glanced back up, meeting Sam’s gaping before he had the chance to look away. The archangel’s face shifted away from whatever hint of humor it’d had, melting away into something unnervingly serious. That in itself was enough to tip Sam off; the emotion was there, raw and whole, but all too far on the opposite end of the spectrum from where he usually fell. Or where he’d fallen before, anyways.

“I don’t know why you kept it,” Gabriel told him, his expression unnervingly serious. It wasn’t a lack of an expression, as it’d been before. It was undeniably purposeful, intentional. “Let alone why you would’ve bothered washing it.”

                Sam knew the answer from the first moment Gabriel spoke, and there a thousand ways he could’ve articulated just why he’d done what he had. Every single one of them were right, too. He could’ve told him that he’d needed a piece of him to hold onto, or how there hadn’t been time for a proper salt and burn or burial, but that he couldn’t stand to leave every bit of Gabriel alone, abandoned. Or, maybe if a miracle struck, he might’ve just said the one answer that captured every other in a span of only three words.

“What?” was the one single he dumbly managed instead.

                _God_ , he was a fucking idiot.

“I got stabbed, Sam,” Gabriel deadpanned, “You all of people should know that gets a little messy.”

                He swallowed hard, the look of guilt that flashed across the archangel’s face a moment later proving to be all he needed to shove away the memory of a blade sinking into his back.

“I hoped,” Sam stiffly started, trailing off when he realized that was all he really needed to say.

                And hope could be a cruel, fickle thing when you were standing over the body of someone you loved too much to forget. There’d been the hope then that Gabriel would snap himself into the backseat of the Impala, grin like a madman, and do his best to give Dean an aneurysm.

                But somewhere along the way, things had gotten too bad for him to keep that hope in his hands. There was too much blood on his hands, too much sorrow and pain he’d put into the world for him to be deserving of any kind of dream anymore.

“Eight years.”

                Gabriel stepped closer, close enough to be pressed almost flush against Sam’s chest. He was close, closer than Sam could ever remember him being, close enough that Sam could make out each and every individual ring of gold and green in his eyes.

“Eight years,” Sam echoed back, exhaling sharply.

                 He could remember every iteration of Gabriel he’d seen throughout all that time.

There’d been the Gabriel of the Cage, where his memories of the archangel had been warped and twisted into weapons to be used against them. That Gabriel was cold, cruel, cut through Sam like a hot blade through butter. His smile was barbed wire, touch biting like thorns against his skin, and there was never a Tuesday where he let Dean live.

                Then there’d been his dreams, of course. The Gabriel in those was quiet, sad, subdued—and always standing just out of Sam’s reach. Sometimes he might seem like he wanted to reach back, but mostly, Sam could only stare, frozen in horror at the drip, drip, dripping of dark red down Gabriel’s front. Some nights were worse than others. On the worst nights, it’d been fire that carried Gabriel away instead.

                And then there were all the dozens of times he’d been drugged and hexed and charmed to work through, too. Of course, because he was a Winchester and nothing ever came easy, there was a third Gabriel that came to him, too.

                 That was the only time Gabriel ever appeared to him just as Sam remembered him. His smile was sunlight shining through breaking clouds, his walk cool and easy like he owned the world. His mind handled the rest, filling in the blanks wherever his real-life experience was lacking. That Gabriel had a touch like honey when his fingers dragged over Sam’s sides, tasted like cotton candy and wood smoke and something uniquely personal that Sam could never quite name.

                Eight years, and Sam had seen every version of Gabriel his mind could invent, but this was the one he wanted, because this one was real, tangible beneath the pads of his fingers when his hand crept up to reverently cup the side of Gabriel’s face.

“Eight years,” Sam murmured, this time mostly to himself.

                Had it really only been that long?

                Sam wanted to tell Gabriel that he loved him, but he was interrupted by the archangel blade clattering to the floor, and then by Gabriel kissing him. And, he thought as his other hand rose to frame Gabriel’s face, maybe it didn’t matter that he hadn’t said it aloud at all.

               Gabriel tasted like chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa, and he kissed like he already knew everything Sam could ever hope to say.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe this episode literally flip-flopped back and forth between actual hentai tentacle porn and the gorgeous reunion of my OTP after eight fucking years like damn what a wild ride
> 
> also it's four A.M. and i'm not properly editing this until tomorrow after i've gotten some fucking sleep, so please point out any errors i might have!!
> 
> thanks for reading!! please comment if you liked it--it really means so much more to read encouragement than i can put into words while sleep-deprived and dehydrated :)
> 
> also also follow me on tumblr @supernaturalsimply !!


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